Best Friends
by bluetoothpaste
Summary: Creepy "what if" story for LotF. No pairings, so if you were looking for that, goodbye. No OC's either. Just our favorite castaways. Anyway, this story asks what would happen if Simon's body hadn't floated away. Rated T for dark themes and creepiness.
1. Chapter 1

**Ah, hello. Author here. This has been on my mind for a few days, and I just need to vent a little. Don't take this story as a reflection of the kind of person I am. Thanks. ;)**

**Anyway, this is a "what if" story for **_**Lord of the Flies**_**. It asks what would have happened had Simon's body stayed on the island instead of being dragged out to sea. Would the kids feel bad for what they did? Would it affect the descent into savagery at all? I attempt to answer these questions in my story. Warning: Involves many dark themes and a character going completely insane.**

Piggy awoke, dazed and disoriented. There was a brief moment of forgetful bliss before the surge of emotions returned. He tried to pick out some of them, but many were hard to identify. There was definitely some depression in there. Anger. Guilt, too. Before he had time to wonder where they came from, his memory fully returned and all traces of bliss were gone.

It was the dance that got him. It started innocent. They were having fun, just a little fun. They ate meat and talked and laughed, just like in the Home Countries. There was nothing _wrong _with meat, was there? A bit of meat. Nothing wrong with a little meat... Piggy shook his head. No. He would _not _become like the others. It was his job to be the voice of reason, and he couldn't afford to shirk this responsibility.

Fiercely, he rejected any memories of the dance threatening to surface. He wasn't a murderer, was he? No, of course not! He'd been on the outside of the circle. Yes, he'd been on the outside. He hadn't even touched the beast, let alone hurt it.

Piggy sat up inside the makeshift shelter, leaves beneath him rustling as he moved. There were two figures walking along the beach. They appeared to be arguing. Curious as to what they were saying, Piggy crept forward in the shelter. More leaves turned. After a few seconds, he realized with dismay that getting closer hadn't made a bit of difference. He got awkwardly to his feet and went a bit closer.

"Well, what do _you _think we ought to do about it, Roger?" Piggy recognized the voice as Jack's.

"I don't know. I thought we could—"

"What?"

"We could use it as bait. For the pigs." Roger sounded as though he were hiding something. Jack seemed to pick up on this.

"What else? You have another idea."

"We could eat it."

Jack laughed, clearly thinking Roger was joking. "Yes, and cook one of the littluns to go along with it."

Piggy's stomach churned. There was something off about the conversation. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what was being discussed, but the curiosity got the better of him and he crept forward.

"Yeah," Roger said, laughing awkwardly. "Cook a littlun."

Jack laughed again, and for a while they stared at the ground. Neither of them said a word. Jack was slightly horrified, but Roger showed no trace of emotion.

Piggy suddenly realized he was in full view of the two boys. Their heads turned, eyes still wide.

"Hullo..." Piggy said, mustering his willpower to avoid looking at the ground. Whatever it was, he knew it was horrifying and that it had something to do with the dance from last night.

Roger smirked. "Well, if it isn't the Big Fatty," he said. "Come on, too scared to look at it?"

"I'm—I'm not scared!" Piggy insisted. Immediately he removed his broken spectacles and cleaned the remaining lens. With the world blurred, even briefly, he had an excuse to not look at...whatever it was.

"I bet you are," Roger said. "You're just like a littlun. What, can't stand a little blood?"

Jack suddenly joined in. "Come on. Put your specs back on, you little crybaby!"

Piggy's temper flared. "Maybe I don't want to see 'cos I still got some sense! Maybe I don't want to be filthy like you! Maybe I don't want to start killing pigs—"

"Or people," Roger interrupted. "Oh wait—you already have." He and Jack started laughing again. But Piggy could tell Jack's laughter sounded forced.

"What are you talking about? I never killed nobody, ever! I wouldn't! I wouldn't!"

"Are you sure?" Roger asked between bouts of laughter. "Simon seems to disagree."

A cold rush ran down Piggy's spine, and he shivered. "Never say that! It was just an accident! That's all it was. Now don't you pretend it was anything different, you hear?"

Piggy heard someone else step up beside him. He turned to see who it was. There Ralph stood, yellow hair falling in his face. "Piggy..." he began to say, but then cut himself off. "Simon? Simon!"

As quickly as he had shown up, Ralph was gone, kneeling next to the brown and red blur that Piggy assumed was—he gulped—Simon's body.

"Ralph! You get back here!" he shouted, still unable to put his glasses back on. Nervously, he rubbed the remaining lens between his thumb and forefinger. "Don't you touch that dirty thing, you hear?"

"Piggy, don't say that!" Ralph cried. "We can still save him. I know we can. He isn't gone yet."

"Yeah, he's not gone," Roger said, snickering.

"Don't! Stop it!" Piggy insisted. "Ralph, you get back here right now!"

But Ralph didn't even seem to hear Piggy, or Roger for that matter. "Come on, Simon, I know you can make it," he was saying. "You'll be okay; I know you will." He was working around the body, but Piggy couldn't tell exactly what he was doing without his specs.

Throughout all of this, Jack had been strangely silent. But he finally decided to speak. "Ralph, stop it."

"No—no, you stop it, Jack! You and your pigs! This is all your fault!" Ralph sounded out of breath.

Piggy tuned out of the argument and instead focused on the churning in his stomach and the buzzing in his ears. This couldn't be happening. What was this? Not so long ago, it seemed, he'd been back in the Home Countries. Maybe none of this was happening at all. Was it possible that the whole island was only a nightmare, a figment of his imagination? Perhaps he had never even gotten on the plane and was asleep in his own bed right now. Yes, that must be it: he was only asleep. And by that logic, he thought, whatever was before him could only be as bad as he could imagine. Anything following those rules couldn't be _too _horrible.

Slowly, Piggy slid his broken spectacles back onto his face. As the world blurred and shifted into focus, he could only think one thing. _Well, _this _is most certainly not a dream. And if it is, I must be completely bonkers. _Jack was staring blankly down at Ralph; Roger seemed to be grinning. Ralph was desperately trying to resuscitate what was left of the corpse, namely a mangled mess of blood and torn flesh. Piggy refused to examine it further and turned around, breathing heavily.

A few littluns had emerged from the shelters and were making their way toward the beach to see what the commotion was.

"Go back," Piggy said, his voice hollow. "Don't look at the beach; just go back to your shelters. Be good. What'ud grown-ups think?"

The littlun called Percival took one look past Piggy and burst into tears. He ran back to the shelters as though a ghost were at his heels. Some of the littluns reacted similarly, crying and fleeing. But a few shouted excitedly and rushed down to the beach to join Jack, Roger, and Ralph.

"Get back here!" Piggy cried vainly. "Don't look at that!" He clawed the specs from his face and turned around again.

"He's dead, Ralph. Now stop it. Come back here. Let's give him a nice funeral, like back in the Home Countries. We could bury him, and—" Piggy found he could not continue. Instead his voice became silent, and he broke off, sniveling.

Even though almost everything was a big blur, Piggy could tell Ralph was pushing Simon's chest, trying to force a dead heart to beat. It was no use. Ralph was batty, Jack frozen, Roger taking some sick delight in all of this. And now Piggy had given up.

He turned around, slipped on his specs, and walked into the forest. What he needed was time to think. He couldn't blow the conch to call an assembly. He couldn't try to talk sense into Ralph. He couldn't try to convince anyone else to hold an assembly, either—no one ever listened to him. If only Simon were here now! He might be able to bring Ralph back to reason. Of course, if Simon were here, Ralph wouldn't be barmy in the first place.

Before long, Piggy came to a clearing. Butterflies danced in the morning sunlight and the candlebuds were open; their scent was pouring out all over the island. But these weren't what got his attention. Near a pile of blackened guts was the head of a pig, stuck on the end of a spear and grinning at him. _Come here, child, _it seemed to say. _I've had a nice talk with a friend of yours. And look where he is now. _The head seemed to laugh.

Piggy shook his head. This was ridiculous. A talking pig's head? It was as dead as the mangled corpse on the beach. Still, the gruesome sight made his stomach churn and his head spin. Buzzing flies found their way to his sweaty body, and he swatted them away. They buzzed around his ears crawled around in his hair and on his arms. Piggy swatted them again and walked up to the pig's head. It was only a rotting head, that was all. The blood was drying and the soft tissue was starting to decay. It would be completely harmless if the bacteria didn't pose a health hazard. Piggy turned his back to it and headed toward the mountain, not wanting to waste his time examining a dead animal's head.

As he walked, he wondered what the difference was. If he could stand to look a rotting head in the face, why couldn't he look at the body on the beach? It was just dead organic material. The only difference was that there was more of it in the body. Maybe it was also more freshly dead, but only by a tiny bit. Or maybe it was that the head belonged to an animal, and the corpse belonged to a person. But what did that even mean? Why was looking at a dead human different from looking at a dead animal? Did it have something to do with the fact that dead animals could be eaten and dead humans couldn't? _Roger seems to think differently, _Piggy thought to himself, remembering the dark boy's comment and shuddering.

Piggy, remembering his asthma, decided that he couldn't make it up the mountain after all. He could face the body. Plus, he needed to be there to ward away the littluns and possibly balance out the lack of sanity back there. He squared his shoulders and headed back.

When he cleared the trees, he saw that Ralph was still busy with the body. But he wasn't doing CPR this time. Instead, he had a heavy mess of guts in his hands and was trying to dump them back into the empty abdominal cavity. Piggy couldn't remember seeing them before, but he supposed it was possible—in all the chaos last night, someone might have ripped the abdomen and...

Piggy shuddered. Who was he fooling? This was a thousand times worse than the head, ten thousand times worse. His legs were made of rubber and his stomach was hollow. But his feet continued to move him closer the very thing he dreaded.

"Look, Piggy!" Ralph said gleefully. "He's alive! I saved him!" The fair-haired boy lifted the body under the armpits and the guts fell out again. Ralph didn't even seem to notice. His eyes shone. The same couldn't be said for Simon, though: the eyes were gone and had left behind two empty, bloody sockets. Piggy tasted vomit in his mouth.

"Put it down, Ralph," he said. His voice shook. "Blow the conch, call an assembly, let's bury him..."

"Why would we do that? I saved him, Piggy!" Ralph laughed. A crazed look flashed across his face. "Ralph...Ralph, you'll get back to where you came from," he said in a sad imitation of Simon's voice. "I think we ought to climb the mountain..." He moved the body around and it flopped in his arms like a rag doll.

Piggy was shaking all over. His stomach lurched, and he tried to keep from throwing up. "Ralph..."

He turned away and saw Jack standing there, completely frozen. He moved his hand in front of the redhead's face, but he didn't respond.

Roger started snickering. "You're all so funny! You should see the looks on your faces!"

"Shut up, Roger!" Jack snapped suddenly, making Piggy jump. "You've no right to say that, no right to—" He stood there, fuming. "I'm going to call an assembly," he said. "I'm going to be chief, and—and—well, I don't know, but something is going to be different!"

Jack spun around and walked toward the platform with his nose in the air. Piggy followed quickly, trying to get as far away from Ralph as possible. Roger stayed and laughed.

Soon the sound of the conch rang out across the island. Littluns scrambled onto the platform, followed by slightly older children, and finally most of the biguns. Ralph struggled along the beach, dragging the body.

Jack jumped off the platform and hollered to him: "Leave that there! Just leave it!"

"I can't!" Ralph called back. "He needs my help. We're best friends, and I'm not going to leave him there for you to hurt again!" Piggy's heart sank. So much for helping Ralph.

"Stay on the beach, then! We don't want him here!" Jack turned to the assembly.

"Now, then. You can all tell that Ralph's barmy..."

One of the littluns raised his hand. "Does this have something to do with the dance?"

Jack flinched. "Yes, but—"

Another littlun: "Is Ralph still going to be chief?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Can we still hunt?"

"Yes, but—"

Jack was cut off again by more and more littluns—and older boys—asking questions.

"I don't know!" Jack shouted. "None of you have the conch, so listen to me! Ralph is batty, so I'm going to be chief!"

"Why is he batty?" Henry asked.

"Shut up, just shut up!" Jack's face was red. "It doesn't matter. I'm going to be chief now, and we're going to hunt."

Piggy stood and took the conch with sweaty hands. "What about the fire?"

"The bloody fire doesn't matter," Jack spat. "We'll never get off this blasted island." He sat down, looking defeated.

**I know that it ends kind of abruptly, but I don't feel like writing more right now. I'll come out with another chapter soon, hopefully.**


	2. Chapter 2

Piggy glanced back at the beach, where Ralph was sitting with the body lying on his shoulder. He appeared to be speaking to it, but from such a great distance he couldn't be sure.

Jack sighed and rubbed the conch nervously. Several of the littluns sniffled. Finally Jack stood again.

"All right...meeting over. I just wanted to say that." He lay the conch down and left. Slowly, the assembly broke up, leaving behind only Piggy, Maurice, and Samneric.

"Do you—"

"—think that—"

"—maybe—" The twins looked at each other and fell silent.

Maurice, usually energetic and smiling, had now become quiet and tired. "Piggy, is Ralph ever going to be chief again?"

"I dunno," Piggy admitted. "For now, we all got to stick together. Perhaps we can talk sense into him." He looked at the twins. "Well, what do you think?"

"I don't know about you—"

"—but he's really giving me the creeps."

"Me too," Maurice said. "Sorry, Piggy, but sitting here like this isn't going to solve anything. I think Jack might know what to do." Just like the others, he got up and left. Samneric soon lost interest and followed him. Piggy was alone.

"Why couldn't you be here, Simon?" he wondered aloud. "If you were here, Ralph might still be chief. He wouldn't be batty." With dismay, he realized his thoughts were repeating themselves. It was a big circle of despair and guilt, and he wondered if he'd be feeling it for the rest of his life. The notion terrified him. Why, he was only eleven. How many more years would he live to regret this? To re-experience the horror of seeing Simon's mutilated body on the beach?

Tears were fighting their way to the surface. Piggy didn't want to cry; crying was undignified. But now, it all seemed hopeless. The possibility of rescue seemed about as likely as Simon returning to life._ Perhaps Ralph thinks we're on a ship heading home, too, _he thought.

Now that the assembly had ended, Ralph was dragging the body toward the platform. They left a trail of dark red blood. Piggy made up his mind that he didn't want to be around when Ralph finally got there. He stood, preparing to walk away as quickly as possible, when Ralph suddenly called to him.

"Don't go, Piggy! Say hello to Simon! He misses you..."

A shudder ran down Piggy's spine, and he turned away, shaking his head furiously. "I'm sorry, Ralph," he whispered. "I'm sorry." Then he ran back to the shelters and sat among the leaves, trembling.

00000000000

That night, Piggy slept fitfully. In truth, he wasn't sure if he slept at all. The sound of Ralph chatting with "Simon" in the shelter next to him kept him shivering all night. The little sleep he got was full of vivid and frightening dreams. There was one in particular that he doubted was even a dream.

The moon was high overhead, sending eerie white light through the entrance of the shelter. Piggy, lying half-awake, heard leaves moving and suddenly Simon was standing outside his shelter. He didn't look dead or injured, though; it was the same old Simon he knew before the dance: the one who fainted often, said strange things, and disappeared at mysterious hours.

"I need to talk to you," he said in his familiar quiet voice. "There's something you ought to know..." He glanced around to check that they were alone and beckoned urgently.

"What?" Piggy asked. "What could possibly be so important? I haven't got a wink of sleep tonight. Besides, you're dead. This is just a dream. You can't tell me anything I don't already know."

Simon looked hurt. "Sorry," he said. "I don't want to waste your time." Just as he turned around to leave, Piggy realized how hungry he'd become for sanity. Simon was the only one he could possibly have an intelligent conversation with, and besides—if this _was_ a dream, he was already asleep and wouldn't be missing out on any.

"Wait! What d' you want to tell me?" Piggy struggled out of the shelter and faced the smaller boy. "Is it important?"

"It's important enough for me to bother you in your sleep," Simon said. "And, you know, I normally can't bring myself to wake up people." He glanced up at Piggy with wide eyes.

"Well?" Piggy adjusted his spectacles.

Simon rubbed his upper arms. "Um, well...Piggy, I want you to be careful. You could be in danger soon."

"What d'you mean?" Piggy asked quizzically. The two children had unconsciously started walking down to the beach, to where the dance was.

"I'm not quite sure," said Simon, "but just be careful, okay?"

"Okay. C'n I ask you a question?"

"You just did." The small boy grinned.

"All right. What 'bout Ralph? He's gone batty, and I don't know what to do with 'im."

Simon cocked his head. "Batty? What's going on?"

Piggy wondered whether he should try and relate the disturbing events of the day to Simon. If this was a dream, it wouldn't do any harm. Maybe his own subconscious would be helpful.

"Simon, you're dead," Piggy said, "and Ralph is trying to be friends with your body." There it was. Simple.

The small boy looked away, toward the ocean. "I know," he said finally.

"Why'd you ask me to tell you 'bout Ralph, then?" Piggy asked.

"I wanted you to admit it was happening," said Simon. "I know about everything that happened since...the dance." The children flinched at those two words.

"How? You're dead. How're you even talking to me?"

Simon shook his head. "I don't know that, either. But that doesn't matter. I told you all I want you to know...you can go back to sleep now."

"But you didn't even have no advice on what to do 'bout Ralph!" Piggy cried.

Simon shrugged. "Sorry. Ralph's just going to have to figure it out."

Piggy, frustrated with Simon—or his subconscious, he wasn't sure which—walked back to the shelters and wormed his way back inside. Before he knew it, he was asleep. Or maybe his dream just ended.

000000000000

The next day, Ralph was no better. He refused to let go of the body and took it everywhere—to the shelters, to the lagoon, up the mountain to keep the fire, even. Except for being infatuated with Simon's corpse, however, Ralph was utterly normal. He made the fire just as much of a priority and even tried to call a few assemblies. But no one showed up. No one, that is, except for Piggy.

He had sort of guilted himself into it. Of all the people on the island, Piggy was the only one with any chance of talking sense into Ralph, and he knew that avoiding the fair-haired boy was going to cause even more problems. It wasn't easy, though. Dealing with Ralph and trying not to be disturbed by what used to be Simon proved to be just as difficult as avoiding them.

And now, Ralph seemed depressed. He lay the conch on the ground at his feet and stared at it forlornly. "I'm chief," he said. "Why won't they listen?"

He answered himself in Simon's voice: "Um, well, I don't know...maybe it's the beast?"

"You know the beast isn't real," he said in his normal voice.

Piggy sighed. "Ralph, p'rhaps it's not them. Could be you. Why, you're sitting here making a dead boy talk!"

"He's not dead, Piggy!" said Ralph defensively. "What has gotten into you? He's alive, plain as day!"

"And you're bonkers, plain as day," Piggy said, exasperated.

"Come on, say hello," said Ralph. He grabbed the body again and shoved it into Piggy's face.

Immediately Piggy backed away from the empty eye sockets, which were now lined with dried blood. He shook his head furiously. "No, Ralph! You got to snap out of it! What if I was a grown-up? Then would you listen?"

"But you're not a grown-up," Ralph said matter-of-factly, "and if you were, you wouldn't be so rude to Simon!" He pulled the corpse back and sat it up so it leaned heavily on his shoulder. "It's okay, Piggy; I don't mind if you're rude," he said, once again talking for his dead friend.

With a wave of hopelessness, he realized that his tactics weren't working. He couldn't talk sense into Ralph by telling him the same thing over and over again. Wasn't that the real definition of insanity? Trying the same thing repeatedly, and expecting different results? He supposed that Ralph would be okay as chief still, but no one wanted to be around him so long as Simon was there.

Just then, Bill emerged from the forest and sat down next to Ralph. "So...could we have Simon over for just a bit? The chief wants to...talk to him."

"But I'm chief," Ralph protested weakly, "and I don't want Jack near him."

"It's okay," Ralph said for Simon. "I'll be okay, Ralph. It's just Jack Merridew."

"But it isn't!" Ralph argued with himself. "They hurt you last time. You're part of my tribe, and I won't let them hurt a member of my tribe." The back-and-forth dialogue between the two—who were really the same person—would have been funny if it wasn't so disturbing. Piggy and Bill looked at each other despondently.

Ralph turned to Bill. "Fine—what do you want him for?"

"I already said the chief wants to talk to him," said Bill.

"About what?"

"Just...things. Like...oh, I don't know...hunting and stuff."

"It'll be fine. We'll be fine," said Ralph for Simon. "Don't worry; Piggy can come, too. Let's go." He turned Simon's head in Piggy's direction.

Ralph, already worn down by being rejected as chief, gave in to himself. "All right. You can go. Just be careful, okay?" He let go of the body, and it flopped onto the ground. Bill gestured to Piggy with his head.

"I can't. My asthma—"

"Fine," Bill grumbled, and dragged it into the forest. Piggy followed.

"What're you gonna do wit' it?" Piggy asked.

"Jack wants to burn it. He said that might bring Ralph back to his senses."

"Don't!" Piggy cried. "That'll jus' upset him. He'll think you actually did hurt him."

"Well, do _you _have any ideas?" Bill dropped the body and wiped his hands on his shorts—or rather, what was left of them.

"I don't got none right now," Piggy admitted, "but p'rhaps we could all come up with something."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but all right. I'll listen to you, Fatty."

Piggy, who was excited for this much recognition, didn't even notice the degrading nickname. "Well, we ought to stick together for now. We could talk to Jack, maybe, and—" He babbled all the way back to Jack's camp. "We might even invent a plan to get rescued if we all work on this!"

Bill sighed as they approached the camp. Piggy realized that this was the clearing where the pig's head was. No one had moved it from its original spot, and the guts were still lying there.

The chief stood, looking calmer than Piggy had ever seen him. "Why is Fatty here?"

"Ralph wouldn't let me take Simon unless Piggy came with."

"All right then." Jack pointed to Piggy. "We can use your glasses to start a fire and burn it."

"Piggy said not to do that," Bill said.

"Why not?"

"Ralph'ud be real upset," Piggy said. "You'd have to talk to him yourself."

"Well, I'll have to take your word for it, then. Let's come up with another plan." He called everyone over, and soon they were sitting in a circle with the body lying beneath the Lord of the Flies. They started to brainstorm.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3, people! Beware, I've got some FUN things in mind for all of you. **_**We're going to have fun on this island! Understand? We are going to have fun on this island! So don't try it on, my poor, misguided boy...**_

"So it's settled, then. We're going to kill Ralph." Jack jammed his spear into the earth and faced the gathered islanders. The setting sun was at his back, although obscured by the forest, and his face was red. Even after hours of discussion, a real plan had not been agreed upon, and his frustration was beginning to show.

Piggy took the conch and stood. "I still don't see the use of doing that," he said. "What 'ud it do? He's not fully batty yet; I talked to him just this afternoon." A clamor arose.

Jack raised his hand for silence. "With Ralph gone we wouldn't have to worry about him anymore. We could just hunt and play and do as we pleased, without him to be afraid of. Why, we might even try and get rescued."

"But you jus' said you didn't wanna be rescued," said Piggy. "You said we'd never get off the island."

"Well, _I _want off now," someone said. There was a murmur of agreement: no one wanted to be stuck in a place where you could lose your mind so easily. Not two days ago Ralph was the sanest among them.

Piggy looked over at Simon's body, which was now stiff and pale. It glowed eerily in the light of the setting sun. "Well, we got to get rid of Simon_,_" he said, "at least for tonight."

Jack sighed. "I suppose we can just give him back to Ralph while we decide what to do—with both of them. It can't hurt. Who wants to take it back?" Silence.

There were no volunteers, and it was easy to see why: the shadows were long and the forest was alive with terrors that could only be formed in the imagination. Simon's body was also not a thing of beauty; in fact, it was quite beastly: caked with dried blood and dirt, flesh torn, bones broken, disfigured, mutilated, murdered. _It was us, wasn't it? We made him a beast. He _was_ nothing to be frightened of, but now..._

A chilly breeze swept through the forest and leaves rattled. The children shivered and huddled together, their facial features obscuring in the dwindling light.

"Simon would've gone alone," a littlun said, barely audible. "He did before." No one replied.

"We got to do something," Piggy said, trying to return them to reason. "We can't leave him here—the bacteria might cause an infection. An' he'll scare the littluns. We won't get a wink of sleep."

"We could always go somewhere else," said Robert.

"Where?" someone replied. Nobody wanted to go into the forest. Nobody wanted to join Ralph near the platform. And no one—absolutely no one—wanted to go to the beach where the dance had taken place. The only other option was the mountain, and that was perhaps the worst place yet: the beast was there, the real beast, that Jack and Ralph and Roger and Samneric had seen with their own eyes. The island was full of untold terrors.

"Per—perhaps we could sleep in shifts," someone suggested. "Then, if something happened, we could wake the others."

"_I _would rather sleep through a beast attack." Piggy recognized the voice as Maurice's.

"There's always Castle Rock," said Roger. "If we make a run for it..."

Silence again. The children, frozen in fear, knew in their hearts that they wouldn't be going anywhere until the sun returned. Perhaps it wasn't dangerous, but it was scary, and at least here they were together.

Not another word was said for the rest of the night. They huddled close together, littluns on the inside and biguns on the outside, shivering. Piggy wondered what he would do should the corpse start moving. What if it rose up, started walking toward them...? Fear gripped his belly. _That can't happen. It's illogical. It's preposterous. It's incongruous. It's—_

But Piggy never thought of the last adjective. The fatigue of his body overpowered the fear in his mind, and he fell asleep.

000000000000

Again, his sleep was riddled with troublesome dreams. In one particularly vivid scene, he found himself floating in the ocean. The water was cold and dark; he couldn't see, couldn't move. There was no particular sense of danger, but there was a queer feeling—a feeling he'd never had before. He had no urge to move, to breathe. In this vast, dark ocean of nothingness, there was no harm. He simply was.

In another, he was back at home. His auntie was pulling something out of the oven: a pig's head, cooked to perfection, with an apple in its mouth. But there was something odd about this pig. Its eyes were open, and they followed Piggy wherever he went. And then his auntie was gone, and Piggy was alone with the head.

"Do you think that the beast has finished with his work?" the head asked. "No, he is only beginning! You would know better than anyone—why, he's _you, _of course! You, and the others, too."

"I wouldn't do anything so terrible!" Piggy said back to the head. "And how can you be talking? You're a head! You're dead! I seen you before, and you were just as dead then!"

"_You're _not dead, though, are you?" said the head. It laughed. "My boy, _that _is all that matters. As long as you and the others live, so do I."

"That doesn't make no sense at all. Just because I'm alive, doesn't mean you are."

"But it does, child!" The head rose from the platter, was supported by a stick sharpened at both ends. The eyes and mouth and ears all ran red with blood. "If I am you, it makes perfect sense!" Its voice sounded like the buzzing of a thousand flies.

"No, no it don't!" Piggy shouted above the awful sound. "I'm me, just me! You're not real! You can't be! You can't be!" The laughter faded. Piggy opened his eyes. There was the sun.

**Okay, I'm done for tonight. That was heavy...sorry, folks. I told you we were going to have fun. It's a lot shorter than the other two chapters, but that's because this one is kind of dense. I'll update this soon****. I'm not high, I promise. It has an uplifting ending. See you soon, if I didn't scare you away.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Terribly sorry for not updating soon enough. I've been very busy with schoolwork and haven't had time to write this. But here is Chapter Four. As of now, I'm not sure how fun it's going to be—you'll have to find out with me! I don't plan my stories, so you're in for a ride.**

Daytime was a relief for Piggy and the rest of the islanders. As the sun rose, spirits were lifted and the weight of darkness faded. The only things to hinder the good feelings were the sharp smell of the pig's head and the guts that lay near it. Simon's body was gone; Ralph must have reclaimed it over the night.

Littluns stretched and yawned. Many of them had burrowed into the soft grass of the meadow, some with their thumbs stuck in their mouths. Piggy almost laughed at the ridiculous sight, but decided not to—the sound might possibly wake sleeping children, however few there were. It was best to sleep as much as you could, because any escape from reality was a good one.

Jack and Roger were nowhere to be found. Piggy wondered vaguely where they could be. But he didn't have to wonder for very long. Leaves rustled, and the two of them climbed out of some sort of hiding spot in the forest. Piggy looked at each of them expectantly.

"What're you doing?" he asked.

"We saw something," said Jack. "Something back there."

"It moved," Roger added.

"What was it?"

"We don't know." Jack rubbed the dull edge of his knife. "We thought it was a littlun, but—" he shook his head "—it was nonsense."

"How's Ralph?"

"Haven't seen him yet today," Roger answered shortly. He walked past Jack and Piggy and entered the forest on the other side of the clearing. The remaining two looked at each other, their sentiments obvious: neither of them wanted to be the first to come across Ralph that day. Simon's body and Ralph's mind were both falling into states of disrepair, and it was disturbing to say the least. But somehow, Piggy still felt responsible for the fair-haired boy. He hadn't been dangerous (at least not when Piggy talked to him yesterday), and he seemed genuinely concerned about everyone's well-being.

"I still think we ought to kill him," said Jack. "What's he doing but scaring all the littluns? Why, if I were chief, I wouldn't go so batty. I don't speak to dead boys."

"Ralph don't think he's been talking to a dead boy," said Piggy flatly. "He thinks Simon's alive. I never seen nothing like it."

"We must get rid of him!" Jack insisted. "Those types of things shouldn't happen."

"Well, I won't be responsible for _two _people dying," Piggy argued. "And me not keeping you from killing him makes me just as guilty. What if he ends up becoming normal again?"

"You must just as barmy as Ralph if you think he'll stop!" Jack cried. "Me and the others are going to come up with a plan to kill him. Even if you tried talking sense into him, he wouldn't listen."

Piggy knew, somehow, that Jack was right. Still, he hated the idea of actually killing Ralph. Ralph was Piggy's only friend on this island, except for Simon—and Simon was dead. Even though Ralph sometimes made fun of him, he knew that the blond boy meant well. No one could be perfect. Still, it was unreasonable to believe that Ralph would get over it; if anything, he'd get worse. But ever since Ralph lost his mind, reason hadn't been especially helpful.

He watched Jack walk back into the clearing and stand in front of the group of castaways. Only a few were still asleep. Jack started to tell them about his plan, and they responded with nods of approval. Piggy, with a feeling of hopelessness, found his way back into the crowd and blended in as best he could.

00000000

Ralph sat with his legs hanging off the platform, Simon at his side. The two boys stared at the ocean for a long time without saying a word. Finally, Simon spoke.

"Thanks for bringing me back," he said. "I don't know what they were doing."

"Well, you're back here now," Ralph said. He jumped off the platform and faced the younger boy. Ever since the incident on the beach, Simon had been a bit...different. His eyes no longer held the same wisdom and curiosity, and he seemed more tired. But Ralph wasn't about to be choosy. Simon—and perhaps Piggy—were the only two members of his tribe left. The rest had followed Jack, and it made him sad to think about it.

How were they going to be rescued if they didn't keep the fire going? Ralph missed his home. He missed his mother, his father, and even his school. He missed his books and feeding sugar cubes to the wild ponies over his garden wall. He missed the snow that would fall gently on the streets in London, a white blanket announcing the return of winter. He missed the way he and his friends would play and laugh together. Now all he had was Simon.

Simon was now looking at Ralph sadly, with a gaze reminiscent of an old man. "I miss them," he said.

"_Them?_" Ralph asked. "You mean—"

"I mean Piggy and Maurice and Robert and Bill and Henry. Even Jack and Roger. It's lonely."

Ralph found he had to agree. "I know," he said, "but we still have each other."

"That's not the same. You're supposed to be chief. How could you think Jack would get us rescued? All he wants to do is hunt and kill pigs."

"But they won't listen to me!" Ralph ran a hand through his hair. "Not even if I blow the conch. Only Piggy comes."

"You have to try," said Simon. He crossed his feet and swung his legs.

"What were they like yesterday? When they took you and Piggy?"

Simon searched his mind for the right words. "They were...nice. They wanted me to join their tribe. They said that I could be a hunter."

"But you don't like to hunt, do you, Simon?" Ralph asked. He hoped he didn't sound too desperate.

"No, I don't like to hunt. But if there really is a beast..."

Ralph's mind reeled. He was almost sure that no beast existed. Still, he couldn't process the horrifying thing he'd seen on the mountain. They hadn't attacked the beast during the dance—that much was obvious. So it must still be out there. But what if it really didn't exist? What could the thing on the mountain be?

"You didn't see the thing on the mountain," Ralph said. "It was scary. I don't know for sure if it was a beast."

"I...I think the beast might be us," said Simon. "I didn't see the thing on the mountain, but it hasn't attacked us so far. I know what _did _attack, though..."

Ralph shuddered. "But I was on the outside of the circle," he protested weakly. Simon just looked at him, a blank expression on his face.

"Maybe it's Jack's tribe that's the beast," said Simon. "You never wanted to kill any pigs or anything."

"You're right," Ralph replied. "All we wanted to do was get rescued. Jack and Roger decided to start hunting. What I need to do is get more people in my tribe. Then we can start the fire again and a ship will see us."

"How are you going to get more people in your tribe?" asked Simon.

"I'll have to make them like you, somehow," said Ralph. "You're the only one who doesn't stay away from me. How are you different from the others?"

Simon shrugged. "I got hurt," he said. "And then you saved me. Maybe you have to save them, too."

"You're right, again. But they have to be hurt in order for me to save them."

"I guess they'll have to get hurt, then," said Simon.

"We can't wait that long! We'll start to get grey hair before _all _of them get hurt. By then everyone in the Home Countries will have forgotten about us."

"You'll have to make them get hurt. After that, they'll join your tribe."

"Okay...but how?"

"In the clearing in the forest, there's a pig's head from one of their hunts. They put it on the end of a spear. Use that. The spear, I mean."

"All right," said Ralph. He started into the forest. When he reached the clearing, he found that Simon had indeed been telling the truth. On the far side, a rotted pig's head _was_ spiked on the end of a spear; dried blood seemed to be holding the thing together. But he couldn't grab it now. Jack's tribe was holding an assembly.

"We're going to kill Ralph," the redhead was saying. "He's batty and he isn't doing us any good. We're going to have to hunt him, just like we do with our pigs, and once he's gone I'll be chief."

Ralph could hardly believe what he was hearing. Simon had to know immediately. He turned and ran back through the forest.

"Simon! Simon!" he cried. "Jack wants to kill me! They're going to hunt me just like a pig!" His chest heaved with sobs.

Simon hadn't moved from his spot on the platform. "You'll have to get them in your tribe before the hunt starts," he said.

"How?" Ralph asked, desperate.

"Take the spear when they're sleeping tonight," Simon replied. Ralph nodded. That was all that needed to be spoken out loud. They had a plan.

**Okay. Chapter Four. I hope you like it; it's the next step in the wearing away of everyone's sanity. R&R, if you think it's necessary.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello, my readers. Welcome to Chapter 5. This is where things get juicy! Penultimate chapter. Stay tuned for the promised uplifting ending.**

The day passed slowly for Piggy. Even long after the assembly should have ended, littluns were chattering about another beast. It wasn't the big, apelike thing on the mountain. No. It was small, about the size of the beast they'd attacked during the dance, with big, black holes for eyes. Many of them worried that it might be a ghost.

"The ghost of the beast!" cried Henry.

"We must've killed it, and now it wants revenge," an older boy added.

"What if—" Maurice hesitated. "What if it's Simon?"

This new thought sent a shudder down the spine of every child.

"But Simon's dead," said one of the littluns quietly. "He's been dead since...since the dance. He wouldn't be a ghost...would he?"

"Maybe the beast killed him," another child suggested. "It's trying to haunt us with him."

"No...the beast didn't kill him!" Bill shouted. "It was us! Don't you see? We killed Simon!"

"We're monsters!"

Hysteria erupted from within the group. Even the illumination of the sun couldn't take away the shock of this discovery. Everyone who'd been denying it before now had to face it: _they _had killed Simon.

"Maybe he wants revenge," someone offered shakily.

"Or maybe he just wants to terrify us!" someone else objected.

"I think you're both wrong—he wants to eat us!"

"No, he wants us to be just like him...to be with him forever!"

By now, even the biguns were trembling with fear. Piggy had to put a stop to this. How else would they come up with a reasonable plan?

"You're acting like a crowd of kids—there's no such thing as ghosts!" he yelled. "Simon's not a ghost! Now listen: we got to have a real plan. Ralph can't stay here if he's going to be barmy. We could move him to the other end of the island, and—"

"Shut up, Fatty!" someone yelled.

"Yeah!"

"Be quiet!"

"Do you want the ghost to kill us?"

"He couldn't kill us if we hunted him," said Henry.

"We can't hunt a ghost," Robert objected. "We'll still have to hunt Ralph. He wouldn't let us bury Simon. I'll bet that's what the ghost wants."

"Of course!" Maurice agreed. "My uncle once told me a story about a ghost. He said that the ghost used to haunt people, until they buried his body. Then he went away and didn't bother anyone."

"See?" Jack turned to Piggy. "We _have _to get rid of Ralph. Otherwise Simon will keep haunting us. Remember that thing we saw in the woods this morning? Could have been him! We have to do it. What else is there to do?"

Piggy flinched at those last words—he could remember Simon saying them to him once. "But...there's no such thing as ghosts."

"There _is_!" sobbed a littlun. "I saw him. Last night. He was all white, like bones, and he had holes for eyes. Just like what the others said."

Percival, who had already been crying quietly, burst into tears. The other littluns followed suit, and soon the clearing was full of weeping children.

"We still can't kill Ralph," Piggy said, even though he knew no one would listen.

"Who says?" Jack demanded. "If we want to bury Simon, we _must_! Ralph's the only one on the island who'll keep us from doing it!"

Piggy was weary and no longer in any shape to continue arguing. At least they weren't after _him. _Well, not presently, anyway. If he continued to oppose their plan, they'd kill him without giving it a second thought. Fear did that to people: anything that posed a physical threat would be seen as a target; it was part of the self-preservation instinct. Since Piggy was acting out against a plan which they had devised to protect their own well-being, he was just as much of a threat as "the ghost". It was too late to try and convince them that ghosts weren't real. So he gave in.

"All right. Do what needs to be done."

A cheer erupted from the crowd, and immediately they began to shout out different ideas.

"We could get him during the night," Robert said, "so he's asleep. He'll never know what's coming to him."

"But we _can't_—night is when the ghost comes out. We have to do it during the day."

"If we try to attack during the day, he'll see us!"

"It doesn't matter; he can't possibly fight us all at once."

The chatter continued for the rest of the day. Piggy, however, didn't stick around to listen. He wanted to say goodbye to Ralph. Maybe not an official goodbye—he didn't want Ralph to know about the plan and be frightened. But he did want to spend time with his friend before they got rid of him for good. Piggy wondered what he would do after Ralph was gone. No one else seemed to tolerate his company.

At that thought, a sudden realization hit him: after they got rid of Ralph, he'd follow soon after. How could he have overlooked this? Before long, Jack's tribe wouldn't care whether or not Piggy was a threat. Pigs weren't a threat, and yet the hunters saw them as targets. Soon enough, Piggy would follow. They didn't like him. The hunt for the pigs would soon grow tame after slaughtering Ralph. So they'd look for their least favorite person and kill him, just for the fun of it. And Piggy was their least favorite person. Briefly he remembered the warning Simon had given him in a dream not too long ago: "I just wanted you to know you'd be in danger soon."

Piggy's heart beat wildly in his chest, and he started to have trouble breathing. _No! Not _now_! _Piggy thought. He struggled to catch his breath. The world spun and blurred as his supply of oxygen waned. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the episode was over. Piggy found he was sitting on the beach, next to the platform.

He looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ralph's yellow hair. All he saw was the vast ocean, the empty beach, and the deserted platform. The only sign that anyone had been there recently was the dropped blood staining the sand and rocks. Where had he gone off to now?

Before he had time to get up and search, someone leaped onto Piggy's back and wrapped his arms around his neck. He writhed, grunting in surprise and pain, trying to escape the arms' iron grip. He grasped the person's wrists. _Jack! _Piggy thought. _He wants me to die. _

Spots danced across Piggy's vision, and his lungs burned. "Wait!" he wanted to cry. "I'll help you hunt! I'll do anything. I'll kill Ralph myself. Just let me live!" But the words wouldn't squeeze through the grip of the arms.

Just before the world faded, he heard Ralph's voice: "Join my tribe, Piggy! We can get rescued. I just have to make you more like Simon..."

00000000000000000

Piggy awoke from what had seemed to him like a long sleep. He blinked, the bright sun shining right in his eyes. Someone was standing over him.

"Ralph?" he asked, his voice sounding cracked.

"No. It's me, Simon." The small boy extended his hand and pulled Piggy up.

"Well, that's just wonderful. Another dream. Got any more warnings?"

"Well, even if I gave them to you, you wouldn't listen." Simon looked up at Piggy. "You should listen better."

"D'you honestly think I would expect Ralph to attack?" Piggy adjusted his spectacles.

"I didn't know _who _was going to attack you," said Simon testily. "I just knew something was wrong." Piggy decided Simon was the intuitive part of his psyche, the part that was rarely used but somehow still existed. Up until recently, he'd relied on logic to provide all the answers, but now he was starting to doubt it. Why on earth would Ralph attack him? How could attacking people make them join his tribe? It didn't make sense. And that was logic's downfall: when things stopped making sense, logic stopped working.

"All right then. When can I expect to see my auntie again?"

"How would I know that? I never even met your auntie."

"I'm just testing you, to see how much you can sense."

Simon looked miffed. "I suppose you only keep me around so that I can tell you about these kinds of things, then?"

"Well...yes. Why else?" It was best to be honest with this part of himself. If he was testing it, he might as well re-introduce it to the rest of his...consciousness. Or whatever you called it.

"I thought we might be friends," said Simon.

"We _could _be, in theory. But it's very hard to be friends with a part of your mind."

"You think I'm a part of your mind?"

"What else would you be? You're dead. There's no other way I could be talking to you."

"I can think of another way..." Simon began to say, but someone interrupted him.

"Piggy, you need to get up now."

"What?" Piggy's world started to fade. "Wait!"

"Get up! Get up! Ralph's coming!"

Piggy blinked twice, and suddenly he was lying on the ground again, by the platform. Maurice and Samneric were shaking him.

"C'mon!"

"Let's—"

"—get out of here!"

"What's going on?" Piggy asked.

"Ralph tried to strangle you," said Maurice.

"And then—"

"—we found you, unconscious."

"But...why? Why would he—"

"We don't know. But come on! Before he gets all of us!"

The four of them scrambled to their feet and ran through the forest.

"What—what happened?" Piggy asked, through labored breaths.

"We don't know!" said Sam.

"We saw Ralph," said Eric, "and he was attacking you."

"We scared him off somehow," Maurice continued. "When he saw us, he ran away. He had this real weird look in his eyes, kinda like some animal."

"It was really scary," Eric added.

They continued running until they reached the clearing.

"Ralph's really batty now!" Sam cried, upon seeing Jack. "He tried to kill Piggy!"

Jack turned to the large boy, his eyes dark and dangerous. "I told you!" he yelled. "I told you we should kill Ralph! He wants to get rid of you! Are you happy, Fatty? What if he decides to attack _us _next? We've got to kill him _now!_"

"Wait—" Piggy began, but he never finished his sentence.

Ralph emerged suddenly from the forest. He grabbed the spear with the pig's head on top and shook it until the decayed chunk of flesh flew off the end. The entire clearing was full of screaming children. Many of them took off into the forest. But Piggy's feet were glued to the ground. His muscles were paralyzed.

"Join my tribe!" Ralph cried, almost pleading. "We've got to get rescued—don't you see?" Tears ran from crazed eyes. Before anyone could do anything, the fair boy approached Maurice with the spear held high.

"You'll join, won't you?"

Maurice, too shocked to move, could only stand there helplessly as Ralph stuck the spear through his neck. Piggy's eyes were transfixed as the life seeped out of him; his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to the ground without so much as a grunt. Blood ran from the deep puncture wound and spurted from broken veins.

No one moved. Then Jack, with a battle cry, took up his own spear and lunged at Ralph. Ralph was just as athletic as he had been before the whole ordeal, and dodged Jack's attacks easily. Everyone else stood by, unable to do anything but watch and hope that Jack could somehow maim his crazy opponent.

Finally, the two were too exhausted to continue the fight and Ralph turned away, running back toward the beach. "See?" Ralph shouted back at them as he ran off. "See? You're the beast, just like Simon said! All I want is to have a tribe and get rescued, and you come up with a plan to kill me! Beasts! Beasts!"

His voice died away as he got further and further away. Silence had descended upon the island; everyone was trembling.

What were they going to do? Piggy realized he'd been wrong, very wrong. They should have done away with Ralph a long time ago. Now he was not only batty but homicidal as well, and it was all Piggy's fault. If only he hadn't doubted Jack's plan! He sat on the ground, wide-eyed, unable to think, to move. They were all going to die here. They were going to die, and they would all become just as batty as Ralph.


	6. Chapter 6

**I lied! This isn't the last chapter! Okay, I planned it to be. But then it got really long, and I didn't want to publish a super-long chapter. So I ended up with this. It still seems depressing. But things get better in the next chapter; I promise.**

Ralph gave Maurice's chest one final push and sat back on his knees. He rubbed his temples, trying to remember how he'd brought Simon back. His mind came back empty. There was a soft hissing sound from behind him, but he ignored it and continued to work on Maurice.

After a few minutes, he heard the hissing sound again. This time it was followed by a voice. The voice of a schoolmaster.

"Where have they gone, child?" it asked.

"Who?" Ralph replied. He didn't look up from his work.

"The others, of course. Bill and Robert and Piggy and Jack and Roger?"

"I...I don't know," Ralph admitted.

"Don't you see? They've run off. They're scared of you, Ralph." The voice was right next to him now. "Stop working. Look at me, child."

Ralph turned his head and saw the spear he had stuck through Maurice's neck. The blood was still running in little streams down his flesh, making a pool below his head. Ralph was unable to turn away. The sight was strangely beautiful: crimson flowed like the Nile. The spear pointing upward reminded him of a certain pig's head.

"I know that's gorgeous," said the voice, "but not nearly so beautiful as me. Up here."

Ralph turned his head upward and saw a serpent coiled around the tip of the spear. Its glowing eyes contained a thousand shades of shifting light, and its body seemed to change color every few seconds. The edges of its scaly mouth turned upward in an unnatural yet inviting grin.

"My poor, poor child," said the serpent, "can't you see he's gone? Just look at that carnage. No one could survive a wound like that."

"But—but—" Ralph tried to protest, but somehow he knew the serpent was right. This knowledge made him angry. It was the snake-thing. The beast. It was the beast's fault! The beast's! Not his! "How—how could you do this?" he demanded, feeling the tears run down his cheeks. "You're terrible, just terrible!"

The serpent laughed. "If I recall correctly, it was not _me_ who stabbed an innocent boy with a spear. Of course, he wasn't truly innocent."

Ralph clenched his fists and stood, staring the serpent right in the face. "It _was _you. It _had _to be you. All I wanted was a tribe. A bigger tribe, so we could keep the fire going and be rescued. I never wanted to"—he forced the word out—"to kill Maurice! It was all your fault!"

"My fault?" said the serpent, feigning surprise. "In what way did I force you to murder this boy?"

Ralph was silent.

"It _was _you who stabbed him, was it not? I don't force you to do these things, child, for I do not need to. I must only stand back and watch them happen. Jolly good show." For a moment or two the forest and all the other dimly appreciated places echoed with the parody of laughter.

"Well—well, I just thought that after I saved Simon, I could—"

The serpent's eyes widened in delight. "After you _saved _Simon? You're worse than I thought!" The laughter echoed again. "You never saved Simon, you stupid child! He's dead! He was dead since the dance on the beach, and you helped kill him. Perhaps you should have listened to the one you call Piggy. He's wise beyond his years. Of course, so was Simon...but that didn't save him."

Ralph wanted nothing more than to argue, to respond in anger, but he found he had no words to say. His thoughts were jumbled and the sentences hopelessly tangled.

"They're all just like you, Ralph," the serpent continued. "I would know. I've had a nice talk with two of them: one in a dream and one in a vision. You're all the same to me. One stupid decision after another. Not that I mind, of course; it's _very _entertaining. You spend so much time running away from the beast, without realizing it's you!"

"I am _not _a beast," said Ralph. "I just want to be rescued."

The serpent rose up and glared at Ralph; lightning flashed in its eyes. "Not a beast? Look what you have done to Maurice and tell me you're not a beast!"

"I—I was batty!" Ralph insisted. "I never would have done that if I wasn't!"

"What is 'batty' anyway?" asked the serpent. "You say that a lot. Everyone's batty, aren't they? What would you say it is? Maybe it means thinking someone's alive when they're really dead. Are you batty when you fiercely believe something that couldn't be further from the truth? If that's the case, you've been batty your whole life." The serpent lowered its head until it was at Ralph's eye level.

"I haven't been batty my whole life," said Ralph. "I was just fine before...before things started breaking up."

"That's your biggest mistake," said the serpent. "You were never 'just fine'. You never will be. You're the beast, remember?"

"Not before this." Ralph tried to speak between sobs. "I—I want to go home. Oh God, I want to go home!"

"God can't hear you, you stupid child! God doesn't listen to the beast. You talk an awful lot about rescue and going home. But don't you realize that even if you do go home, you can't escape me? Don't tell me people in the 'Home Countries' don't get robbed, murdered, and kidnapped every day."

Ralph found he could no longer speak. His vision was blurred and foggy, and his mind was caving in on itself.

"What you really need is rescue from yourself, the beast. But that can't happen. Not after this. You're doomed no matter what. The others are just as beastly, you see. Instead of coming up with a reasonable plan, Jack and the others sought to kill you. Even Simon was no different from you. You're all the beast."

_You said that already, _Ralph thought. The serpent's molten eyes continued to bore into his.

"Now go," the serpent said. "You ought to have a funeral for Simon, just like in the Home Countries. He's dead, and soon you will be."

Ralph turned away from the serpent and stared at Maurice's body. The spear was still lodged in his throat. He grabbed it with both hands and yanked it out, shaking it to throw off the serpent. But the serpent was gone.

He grabbed Maurice by the feet and focused on dragging him to the beach, trying to forget the serpent. But no matter how hard he tried, the image of the color-changing snake with its glowing eyes would not leave his memory.

As soon as he reached the beach, he sat down in the sand and cried.

00000000000000000000000000000

Jack stood in front of his panicked tribe, trying desperately to come up with a plan. He knew he would have to kill Ralph—that much was obvious. But it was too dangerous to attack him in the open. Even though he was surely outnumbered, most of the tribe was littluns who didn't stand a chance against the tall, athletic boy.

"All right," said Jack. "Does anyone have an idea?"

"An ambush," Roger offered. "Get Ralph to come here. Then we all attack him at once. I've been thinking about this...it's perfect. We've just got to have some bait, to get him into the clearing."

"What kind of bait?" asked Jack.

"Piggy," said Roger. "I'll kill Piggy, and when Ralph comes to get his body, we can all throw ourselves on him at once."

The tribe was nodding its approval. Why hadn't Jack thought of this? Of course Ralph would want Piggy to join his tribe. All he really wanted was a bigger tribe. Besides, Piggy would be easy to hunt and kill. Easier than a pig.

0000000000000000000000000

In the distance, Piggy could hear sobbing. Not loud sobbing, but sobbing nonetheless. It was a sound he seldom heard except from the littluns, and it pained him to hear it coming from someone older. Someone he knew and someone he was close to not so long ago. Ralph. It hadn't occurred to him how lonely Ralph must be, by himself on the beach with no one but two corpses to keep him company. Both of whom were now corpses at least partly because of him. Piggy supposed they were talking right now. _Well, it would just be Ralph, of course, _Piggy thought, _but Ralph wouldn't know it. _

The panic he'd experienced earlier had not gone away. Now, he realized, the threat of death loomed from both sides of the schism: from Jack and his hunters, and from the now-homicidal Ralph. Piggy was utterly alone. Alone, except for...

Piggy shook his head. Memories of the strange visions clouded his mind. No! Simon and Maurice were _not _in the forest! Ever since Ralph's attempt to strangle Piggy, he'd been a bit foggy and off-kilter. This was what he blamed when he saw either of them. Of course he was disoriented and confused: he'd nearly died because of Ralph, and seeing dead people was part of the recovery process. Nothing more.

He wiped the water from his cheeks and adjusted the spectacles on his nose. He'd have to find somewhere to hide, somewhere safe, with food and clean water. If everyone's current mental state was any indication, he'd be there for a long time. Perhaps for the rest of his life. _No more assemblies, _Piggy thought. _No more talking things out, like before. Nothing. There is nothing left. _

Oh, how he wished he could go home! He longed to be back with his auntie. He could vividly remember the candy shop now, the sweet scent drifting through the small store on the corner and beckoning to kids on the street. Piggy had even been friends with a few of the regulars. Now, of course, Piggy had no friends. Here, on the island, he had no value. Being smart meant nothing when you couldn't make sense of things.

But where could he go? Even the forest couldn't protect him forever: even though none of the others would go in there alone, he doubted they'd cower away from the challenge should they all go together. Plus, they had a good reason to search for him (at least, a reason they believed was good). He would have to move around to avoid being caught, and he simply wasn't cut out for that kind of physical labor. Not with his asthma.

He leaned up against the trunk of a tree and cried quietly. Now he knew how Ralph must feel. Up until this point, Piggy had suppressed the urge to cry, thinking it undignified and unable to solve any problems. But he found he could no longer lock up the emotions boiling to the surface. For the first time in a long time, Piggy let go of reason entirely—at least for a little while. Perhaps it was good for him.


	7. Chapter 7

**It's the end! I told you I'd give you an uplifting ending, and here it is! Anyway, yeah. One of the few things I've managed to finish in my life. Enjoy.**

On the other side of the island, Ralph was wiping away his bitter tears. What had happened? What was going on? His mind reeled, tried to understand, came back empty. Nothing was going the way he planned. There was nothing left. Nothing left of his tribe, of anything. He glanced down at his hands, stained dark red from the blood. He looked from his hands to his tribe and back again. His tribe—oh, his tribe—which consisted of nothing more than the dead bodies of Simon and Maurice.

Had Piggy been right? Was Simon dead all along? Ralph had only tried to hurt Maurice and save him so he might feel indebted to Ralph as Simon had. But had Simon really been indebted at all? All Ralph knew was that when he had brought Maurice back to the beach, Simon was dead. Dead and slightly rotted, with his eyes gouged out and his abdomen ripped open and emptied. There were scratch and bite marks all over him, and not a single one of his bones was unbroken. It wasn't possible that Jack's tribe had attacked when Ralph went to get Maurice—they had all been there the entire time, watching him with wide eyes and trembling mouths. As though he were some sort of beast.

The weight of what he had done fell on Ralph's shoulders like the sheet of blackness that descended over the island every night. He was the beast. He'd murdered Maurice—and, if Piggy was to be believed, taken part in Simon's death—and now there was nothing left of him, either. Simon was right: they _were _the beast, all of them were, and none of them would know it until it was too late. Ralph wanted nothing more than to be home, to be awaken in his own bed and have his father tell him it was all a dream. But that was never going to happen.

A quiet whisper drifted to his ear, carried delicately by the wind: _What else is there to do...? _The voice was eerily familiar, but comforting somehow, and Ralph knew right then the answer to the question. He stood, taking one last look at the two dead boys, and walked into the forest.

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Piggy rubbed his eyes behind his glasses and sniffled. Even though he knew it was foolish, he glanced around him to make sure that no one had seen him blubbing. He still considered himself the voice of reason, even throughout all of this, and he felt that his breakdown was just another sign that everything was going to the madhouse.

Still, he felt much better after finally letting himself go. There was something oddly peaceful about the island: waves crashed distantly against the shore, the setting sun glowed on the horizon, and the sounds of the evening played in his ears. He lay on the ground with his hands behind his head and let the warmth of the ground soak into his back. Surprisingly, the dwindling light didn't seem so scary. Instead, it was almost a cloak of protection from the harsh daylight. His anxiety was still, there, but it was buried beneath feelings of peace he hadn't had in what felt like a very long time. The threat of Jack and his hunters still loomed, but he knew that – at least for now – they were preoccupied with Ralph and were not likely to worry about attacking him. Piggy figured that it was pointless to fill his last days with fear and stress. For once, it was nice to be the one to _not _have to worry about everything.

Suddenly, he felt someone tap him on the shoulder, and he jumped. His eyes flew open to reveal Ralph standing over him, his fair hair stringy and stained with dirt and blood. Piggy scrambled into a sitting position, too surprised to do anything but stare. Finally, he spoke in a hushed whisper.

"Ralph, what're you doing here? Haven't you got other things to bother with, besides me?"

Ralph gazed at him sadly, and Piggy noticed that the crazed look was gone from his eyes. "No," he replied. "Look, Piggy – I'm real sorry about what happened. And you were right: Maurice and Simon _are _dead."

Piggy didn't reply. He simply sat and waited for the fair boy to explain himself.

After a brief pause, Ralph continued. "I-I guess I was acting a bit barmy, and I understand if you want to get rid of me now."

"Ralph, I never wanted to get rid of you," said Piggy. "You were the only one who made a lick of sense. Jack and his tribe are just as barmy as you are. Can't think of nothing but taking you out. I don't want to be around them, neither."

"I just want you to know that I'm not barmy anymore," said Ralph. "But it's okay if you want to avoid me. Sorry for trying to kill you."

"Look," Piggy began, "I know you feel bad about what happened, and you ought to, because it was a downright dirty thing you did. But...I know I helped with Simon in that there dance...so I'm just as barmy as anybody."

Ralph smiled weakly. "Thanks," he said. "Thanks for not running away."

"I know we done some bad things," replied Piggy. "But I don't think we're the beast."

"Why not?"

"Well, we're here, aren't we? We're talking like normal people – like grown-ups would. Jack and the others, they aren't doing that. They're still in the forest and want to take us out. I think that everyone's done stuff like we done, but the better people can come out of it and be normal people again."

Ralph smiled at the idea. "I hope so," he said. "Now let's build a fire."

Piggy blinked. "Ralph, don't tell me you've gone barmy again. You know that if we light that fire right now, then everyone's gonna know where we are, and then they're gonna kill us!"

"I know," said Ralph, "but I also think it's the only thing we can do. You know we probably won't ever leave this island...even if we tried to make smoke, they'd get us before any grown-ups could see. Don't you want to do something good before they do? Get us, I mean."

Piggy nodded. He realized in his heart that Ralph was right; the whole island was turned against them, and their chances of rescue were very slim. Even if they did go back home, Piggy wasn't sure if he would want to carry the memories from the past couple of days around with him for the rest of his life.

"Let's wait a while," he said, finally. He and Ralph walked to the beach, strategically avoiding the two bodies that were lying near the platform. They sat by the water's edge and stared into the sunset, watching the waves bounce on the surface of the ocean.

"Do you suppose Simon and Maurice are out there?" asked Ralph.

"I dunno," said Piggy. "Might be. They might be right here, too." He pointed at his temple with a chubby finger.

Ralph laughed. "You saw them, too?"

"Yeah, but not in the same way you done claimed."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"You were the best friend I could've asked for on this island, Piggy," Ralph said finally. "By the way, what is your real name?"

"It's Collin," said Collin. "Collin Carlisle."

"That's a nice name," said Ralph. The two were silent for several more moments.

"So...is it time?" Ralph asked.

The boy once known as Piggy nodded. They walked toward the forest and gathered enough wood to create a sizeable fire, one that was likely to gather the attention of anyone in the area. Piggy removed his glasses and held them against the glow of the setting sun. The light caught, and soon a small flame was licking the pile of wood. The two children stared into the flame, feeling its warmth and the warmth of their friendship.

Even if they had once been the beast, that was behind them now. In the end, they had done all they had ever wanted to do...they didn't let the fire out.


End file.
